Found While Traveling

Highlights and peak moments from 2025 experienced on the road and in the air, from us and some of our favorite frequent travelers

Recently, I was on a flight from NY to LA when the wifi just refused to work for me. Ever since wifi became readily available on flights, I’ve turned into that person who just works and texts my daughter pretty much throughout the trip—so I knew she was going to be anxious that I hadn’t checked in since takeoff. After several attempts to help me log on, the flight attendant brought me her personal iPad and suggested I text Clara a message from her account. It was such a kind, thoughtful, and deeply human gesture, and instantly dissolved my anxiety.

It’s moments like these that often stay with us long after a trip ends, and are reminders of why we travel in the first place. When we’re out of our comfort zone or just opening our eyes to a new place, we tend to be more receptive, more vulnerable—we see, smell, and hear everything differently, and we’re more open to connection. Just today, walking down a New York street I’d never been on before, I paused at an incredible piece of signage, and my daughter said, “See? You don’t need to be in Rome to get inspired.”

And so for our final post of the year, I wanted to hear from our community about their most impactful or memorable travel moments of 2025—not a trophy list of hotels checked into or destinations visited, but the unexpected encounters, small kindnesses, memorable flavors, unforgettable views, and amazing discoveries that made them feel newly alert to the world, and stayed with them long after any 10-course omakase meal or dreamy infinity pool ever would.

I think it’s important, especially at a moment when everything seems to be more expensive than ever—but also less stable—to lean into what really matters when it comes to travel. According to the 35 friends we asked below, it’s community, kindness, spontaneity, kismet…. And of course, we’d love to hear your take in the comments! We’ll be offline for the next couple of weeks, so here’s wishing you all a holiday season filled with curiosity, connection and inspiration, wherever you go (or stay). See you in the new year!

---

On an impromptu trip to Puglia this September, we kept passing Le Zie, a tiny trattoria that looked incredible but was closed every time we tried. On our last day, we drove over an hour to give it one final shot—only to arrive and find it fully booked. The two women who run it (the actual zie, or “aunts”) took pity on us and squeezed us onto a little side table. Sure enough, it was the best meal for the trip and it gave me faith that travel can still be highly spontaneous!

—Mélanie Masarin, founder of Ghia and author of Night Shade on Substack

On my most recent trip to Honolulu, I was exploring the Chinatown area, where there are quite a lot of good vintage stores and you can still find Hawaiiana ephemera, great local pottery from the ‘50s, amazing Aloha shirts, and so much more. This is also the neighborhood where leis are made with one tiny shop after another, where the aunties are stringing flowers by hand. It’s an area I always stop to check in on, and I noticed a new shop called Native Books with a really cool decal on the front of the store, which caught my eye. As I peeked into the large window to the street, I saw a woman sitting making a lei. I was immediately intrigued, as I love leis. She waved me in and I entered. I had never seen the kind of lei she was making…and asked her about it. She explained that it’s a lei made from the blossoms, which can range from bright orange to burnt red, of the Kuo tree. But the most amazing part is that they use the already fallen flowers that are a bit wilted, so it lends a very ethereal, papery quality to the lei. It takes hundreds and hundreds of flowers to make the necklace. I was very taken by the explanation and she could see how impressed I was. There was a completed lei next to her, and she was finishing up the second one. Without hesitation, she stood up and put the finished lei around my neck. I tried to protest, but she was so generous in her offering that I could not refuse. This is the important part - she said you always make two leis, one for yourself and one to give. This gift from a stranger, that probably took hours to collect the blossoms then to string it, was given in the truest sense of the Aloha spirit. Which I am happy to say remains omnipresent in Hawaii. —Cristina Hudson, co-owner of Hudson Ranch and Vineyards

In mid-April, I set out on a cross-country road trip across the US from Joshua Tree California to Mid-Coast Maine, with a little shortcut through a corner of Canada. Now, I’ve made the long way across more times than I can count on all my fingers and toes, but what made this trip so incredible to me was that by focusing on a loose thematic and by avoiding interstates, being able to still uncover so much newness and wonder. The theme party was to visit as many old general stores and saunas as possible. It led me to Japanese Kominka cabins, a Stave Church, Tyler Hays’ crafty perfection of M. Crow General, saunas floating through the oceanic Lake Superior and breathtaking splendors of the natural world. At a time when I wanted to flee to other lands, instead I dug in deeper in this one, and found the rewards were there for the taking. —Jay Carroll, cofounder of the artisan olive oil brand Wonder Valley

We were stuck in the Casablanca airport one night on our way to Marrakech: the original ‘70s lounge had beat-up seats and a very well-stocked buffet, so we drank coffee and ate dates and cookies while waiting for hours in an almost empty airport, with the attendant keeping the place open just for us until our flight finally took off. It felt like a real journey, which showed that direct flights are not always the answer. —Sciascia Gambaccini, stylist, illustrator and writer who lives between Milan, Monaco and Pantelleria

I’m obsessed with Corte Della Maesta—every time I go to that magic land, it feels like the first time and it fills me with wonder and delight. There is so much love—you feel it everywhere. Both the hotel and the town are absolute magic, and we need more magic in the world now more than ever. Cristiana, who owns it, is the most hospitable and warm person I know, and always makes you feel cared for and special. —Marie-Louise Sciò, creative director and CEO of Pellicano Hotels and founder of Issimo

A few moments this year really stuck with me. Taking a private fjord cruise in Norway and talking with the captain about what life on the fjords was like hundreds of years ago: the history and the impact of the geography on people’s lives (a real learning moment that had to be experienced in person). In St. Barths, after going back year after year, meeting the newborn baby of close friends who live on the island was a reminder that travel can connect you with people in a very real sense. And finally, flying my one-millionth mile this year...we talk a lot about great hotels, but not a lot about the experience of getting there (usually for good reason). A long, easy conversation with the pilots on my flight to Milan made all those take offs, landings, miles, even the delays over the years feel a little special. —Jonathan Petrino, designer, writer and photographer

We went to Uzbekistan on an exploration trip with my wife and niece, the designer of Emporio Sirenuse. We were looking for exceptional textiles in the tradition of the Suzanis and Ikats my father had collected and I grew up around. When all hope seemed lost, one of the young curators of the Bukhara Biennale pointed us in the direction through a series of long alleyways—with not a single tourist—to a charming Uzbek man who had taken up the old tradition of embroidery to produce some of the most wonderful modern Suzani I had ever seen. This made the whole trip worth it! —Antonio Sersale, co-owner of Le Sirenuse

Coming home from Vietnam, we had a long layover at Narita. After we checked our bags at the airport, we hopped on a train to the town of Narita, which is about 20 minutes from the airport. A beautiful 30-minute walk from the train station is the Naritasan Shinshoji Temple Complex. Founded in 940 AD, Naritasan Shinshoji has evolved into one of the most significant temples in the Kanto region. It was misting when we were there, which made it unusually quiet and even contemplative. It was the perfect escape from a long layover. —April Gargiulo, founder of Vintner’s Daughter

What I’ll never forget is tracing Beirut’s once-vibrant modernist spirit on a double-decker bus tour of 49 landmarks, moving from early International Style and Art Deco buildings to Brutalist icons like The Egg, an architectural renaissance full of promise that was abruptly paused in 1975, yet still feels powerfully alive in the city’s urban fabric. —Costas Voyatzis, founder and editor-in-chief of design platform Yatzer

The treatment rooms at Sterrekopje in South Africa were the most beautiful I have seen. I think my favorite moment of the year was sitting in the kitchen there, by the fire, listening to the chef making me delicious soup and singing. The other was travelling with my boy. Seeing the world through his eyes. Releasing tiny baby turtles in the night on the beach at Hotel Esencia.

—Jules Perowne founder and CEO of the PR firm Perowne International

I have traveled extensively across Greece for most of my life, yet I had never visited the small Cycladic island of Folegandros, perhaps the most poetic and surreal of the entire archipelago. The arrival—traced along its wind-sculpted cliffs and flying past the suspended monastery of Panagia perched seemingly in the void—is mesmerising. The inhabitants are among the warmest and most welcoming I have encountered. Crossing this long, narrow island feels like a journey of discovery revealing its quiet wonders, from the whitewashed houses of the Chora to its tiniest villages, surrounded by scattered little churches, donkeys, and shepherds with their flocks. Much of the island is suspended at great height, so that each descent toward its bays feels like a slow unveiling, the sea arriving below as something almost earned. —Fabrizia Caracciolo, writer and contributing editor, Cabana Magazine and AD Italy

Sailing the Egadi islands this summer for the first time. Watching mainland Sicily slip away, and entering an island rhythm that is fleeting in today’s very connected world. Arriving at Maritemo, an island where the port is barely a dock at all, the shops don’t sell souvenirs but instead necessities. There isn’t ornamentation here, only the land and the sea and the people who savor them both. Strong winds kept us here for a full day and two nights—a fleeting moment, and a portal. We potlucked on the boat, visited the local cafe for apero, had gelato and an impromptu dance party in the middle of the town square, hiked to beaches that seemed unreachable - only to find ourselves alone on a shore encased in the sound of pebbles rushing in with the tides. Traveling is collecting moments like these as stones from that shore. Putting them in our pockets and savoring them, remembering and longing for more. — Tracy Georgiou, founder of creative agency Long Weekend and author of the Long Weekend Substack

Right outside the airport in Maun, Botswana, is the Duck Cafe Bar: great coffee, decent burgers and a souvenir shop filled with beautiful crafts as well as sunscreen and, curiously, Superga sneakers, if you need them. The tables were filled with all sorts of travelers (backpackers, families) exchanging stories and tips about safaris while enjoying a beer or sipping a coffee. It reminded me of when I first traveled—before there were cell phones or GPS or Trip Advisor reviews. You couldn’t curate your trip. You encountered places and people and your adventure would just unfold. —Maura Egan, Brooklyn-based editor/writer and content strategist

With both my kids, standing on top of a butte we’d just climbed, watching the sunrise over the incredible Amangiri landscape in Utah. You hear so much about the architecture there - and deservedly so - but the landscape and the light and the early morning adventure really lodged itself in my memory. —Amanda Brooks, creative director, author, and founder of Cutter Brooks

This year, I was lucky enough to travel through the Norwegian fjords. The feeling of being nestled between such jaw dropping beauty, sailing through the purest water, feeling the crispest air on my skin, seeing the wildlife roam freely, the deep greens and blues against the bright sun.... I just felt my body breathe deeply in a way I had been craving. The reminder of how much bigger the world is, how much simpler it can be. I live in London, a bustling metropolis, and am often on the go doing more than I should. To be able to fly just a few hours away and be somewhere so removed is so grounding and humbling. I find myself in these moments. It’s why I live for travel - it always grounds me back to what really matters - whether its perspective like this trip, or inspiration from seeing different ways people do things around the world. It’s why my bucket list will never stop growing.” - Melissa Morris, founder and creative director of Métier

Visiting Sydney, my wife Esther and I planned to go to Icebergs dining room for lunch, and then to walk off lunch on the Bondi to Googee cliff walk. But upon arrival, much to my chagrin, we found it was closed for a private event. I ran into Alex Pritchard, the chef, and he told us to wait 10 minutes. He scurried back inside and returned 10 minutes later with a picnic hamper full of delicious snacks and sandwiches. That was a special moment that defined what I love about the hospitality industry. —Marc Blazer, CEO & cofounder of home rental co. Boutique.

In May there was a festival, a gathering that happens in a stretch of the Tibetan plateau that reaches down into Nepal, a ladder to the rooftop of the world from the lowlands into a Kingdom called Lo. In recent years, this region has been called Mustang and the capital of the region is a walled village 20km from the border with China and 12,000-plus feet above the ocean called Lo Manthang. The gathering is a 3-day event (The Tiji Festival), where the gods of good and evil fight in the village quad and all watch. The ritual began in the 8th century with a traveling enlightened buddha named Guru Rinpoche. Next to the quad there is an earthen house larger than the buildings in the rest of the village, the Royal Family Palace, but these days it no longer houses the family. There is a gatekeeper who lives there, though, and he minds the horses and livestock of the royal stables left over. Things are changing fast in Lo Manthang, a new road is being built connecting Nepal with Tibet. The gatekeeper invited me in for tea and we climbed up to the third floor to the palace kitchen, a dark room with fires lit and black smoke marking the walls and ceiling. We sat and drank salted yak butter tea, freshly poured, and I noticed on his left hand a unique ring, a brass rough metal with a filed flattened red stone in the center and two turned up sides, like a tiny saddle for a finger. I asked him about the ring, and he told me that it is a local design, utilitarian and old, nothing special, and that I can ask around at the market near the hardware section. The next day I found one in the market and purchased it for my wife, and it felt like it gave me luck, although I don’t really know how or why. In November I was back in the Himalayas, back in a transition zone close to the Tibetan plateau, but this time further down the chain in Bhutan, and standing in front of a temple dedicated to Guru Rinpoche was a vendor selling prayer beads and rings. I glanced at the table which was a cornucopia of religious artifacts, and in the back corner near the vendor were two similar rings as I had seen in Nepal, tied together with twine, one with a blue stone and one with red. I pointed and asked “what about those?” The vendor stopped and pointed as if to ask if I was sure. “Yes, those two, where are they from?” She told me they were her mother’s, and that her mother was from the highlands and asked her to sell them on her behalf. She laughed and said she told her mom no-one would want them, they were poor farmers’ rings. She called them tsechock or saddle rings, and they were designed to look like wooden yak saddles, that they gave good luck. There is magic out there. Sometimes you can’t see it anymore, but traveling shakes the cage and gives you new eyes to see it once more. —Tyler Dillon, travel planner with Trufflepig and author of the Substack, The Timbuktu Review

1) Bhutan - The hike to Tiger’s Nest stayed with me less for the monastery and more for the Bhutanese guides who visit it constantly for work, yet never seem bored by it. Watching people choose to stay present with something familiar felt quietly refreshing in a world that moves on so fast. 2) Aswan, Egypt - Learning how Abu Simbel was cut apart and rebuilt to escape rising waters changed how I saw it. It was a reminder that travel isn’t only about seeing great things—it’s about understanding why we decided they were worth saving in the first place. 3) Yakushima, Japan - stayed with me for its quiet - mossy forests, soft rain, and no sense of rushing. Being there made slowing down feel easy. - Bernise Wong, Hong-Kong born and New York-based creative director and designer.

In three days I’m having dinner in London with a friend I haven’t seen in over 25 years. Back then, she opened the doors of posh London to me. She lived in Notting Hill; I shared a flat in King’s Cross when it was still dodgy, and often walked home because I couldn’t afford taxis. We misbehaved badly and had an absolute blast. She booked BiBi for our reunion. Officially, I’m in London for meetings. In reality, I’m going to see her. —Igor Ramírez García-Peralta, writer, farmer and olive oil producer, and contributing editor to HTSI

This was my year of the wolf. It is an indescribable mix of terror and exhilaration to be seen by a wild animal, to feel its gaze directed onto you. In January, in the dense, frozen forest of northeastern Poland, I locked eyes with a wolf. We stood facing each other for an instant, and all else vanished. That is until a pack of 14 others appeared and began running towards me. I began to shout, “It’s me! It’s me!” I felt like Buck in The Call of the Wild, ready to join them, my true wild nature finally revealed. A few weeks later, I was in Yellowstone National Park, in winter so deep the moisture in the air froze into sparkling ice-glitter. The park was mostly closed to traffic save the road accessed from the north entrance in Montana. This led us to the Lamar Valley, where we saw two different packs of wolves. They kept a distance this time, perhaps due to the crowds of amateur wildlife photographers that followed them - “Wolf People,” of which I am now one. —Josh Hickey, writer, literary curator, and founder of the Hydra Book Club

I am usually a real planner when it comes to travel, and before I went to Rome in the fall, I kept telling myself I was going to get tickets for a Serie A game to attend while we were visiting. The year before, in London, we went to a Premier League match—Tottenham beat Brighton in the final 15 seconds while 60,000 home fans lost their collective minds—and it was the highlight of my trip. But I never motivated, and instead ended up spontaneously going to a Serie D game on the outskirts of Trastevere. Serie D, as you can probably guess, is a few levels down from Serie A—the stadium, if you could call it that, didn’t have a scoreboard, the star of the team was a 36-year-old with 400 followers on instagram (Go Emiliano!).... the guy at the entrance hand-wrote our tickets which, at $10, cost approximately $300 dollars less than one for, say, an AS Roma match across town at 70,000-seat Stadio Olimpico. But locals came with their kids and their dogs and cheered on Calcio, their home team, and the sky was crystal blue, and somehow it felt more Rome than the cacio e pepe and the Bellini sculptures and anything else we would do and see and eat all week. It just reminded me that a) soccer fans are the same lovable diehards everywhere and b) that the enduring moments of travel, the ones that stay with me, are hardly ever the ones that are planned. —Jenny Rosenstrach, cookbook author and founder of the Substack Dinner A Love Story

1) In a world dominated by digital and obsessed with the future, I can’t stop thinking about the usage of cigarettes as currency on the ATM-free Aeolian island of Filicudi. 2) I took multiple regionale trains from Florence to Capalbio to finally stay at Terre di Sacra. It was mid-August and the two town taxi drivers were off celebrating Ferragosto, so instead, one woman from the hotel came to get me in her own car from the station, and then when my pre-booked car no-showed, another did the same, bringing me back to the station. The best hospitality is a show of humanity! 3) The best sleep I had all year was at this small hotel outside Essaouira, Morocco, called Villa Laba. It was 100% because there were no lights in the room, they lit candles in lanterns during turn-down service and it was the most luxurious non-luxury I could imagine. — Marissa Klurstein, author of the Substack Happy Hoteling

I fell asleep (mercifully) on my flight from Mumbai to Tashkent, but woke up as we crossed over Kabul and then over the magnificent Hindu Kush mountains. I had never flown this route before. I love that some sights make curious children out of all of us; it’s the simple marvel of appreciating the contours of our planet. —Sai Pradhan, Hong Kong-based writer and artist

I spent this past Easter in the South of France with my husband and our best friend. We stayed at La Colombe d’Or—a place that had been on my wishlist for over a decade—which was, predictably, heavenly, and a memory all on its own (the scrambled eggs!!!). On Easter morning, we decided to attend mass at La Chapelle Matisse (a one-two punch: culture, and I earned some brownie points from my *very* Catholic grandmother). We arrived a little late, and the nun manning the door seated us in the front, next to the priest, who was dressed in the original robes designed by Matisse. To see the chapel in use as a chapel was a different experience altogether; we gave a communal blessing to a newly-engaged couple, and chatted with some locals after the service. It was special in a frozen-in-time kind of way. —Shauna Teevens, CMO, AmiGo

While looking for fried artichokes in Rome one night, my boyfriend and I stumbled into a chapel that wasn’t actually open: The priest had just finished a couples’ counseling session. We ended up having a madcap conversation about modern religion, marriage and technology, and artichokes. If you hear about a new religion called Carciofismo, you know where it started…—Christine Muhlke, writer, culinary consultant, and author of the xtine newsletter on Substack

In my mind, there’s nothing much better than a ski lunch, and the best one I’ve ever had by far was after riding up in a cable car to the top of Mount Lagazoui in the Dolomites and skiing 770 meters down the Armentarola piste to the Scotoni Mountain Hut, a rifugio nestled in the Italian alps between Cortina and Alta Badia. Here I had a Tyrolean feast of speck, steaming hot polenta, grilled bratwurst and a glass of Spumante out in the fresh mountain air with the sun shining. It was a religious experience for me and the happiest I’ve ever been in ski boots. And after lunch I got rope-towed home by a horse-drawn carriage! Perfecto. —Alexa Brazilian, cofounder of the Substack The Perfect

Thirty years after I’d first visited the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion south of Athens as a backpacking student, I returned again this past Spring with a friend from London. Seeing a photo I’d posted on Instagram, a Greek classmate from Amherst gently chidded me for not telling him I was coming, but also urged me to visit one of his favorite places, the monastery of Saint Paul the Apostle. After we rang the bell at the gate, a rosy-cheeked nun wearing a wimple welcomed us and led us up stairs that passed through terraced gardens lushly planted with rosemary, thyme, mint and other herbs. Then she showed us the recently restored icons in the small domed chapel and served us freshly baked almond cookies and mint water in the shade of a trellis covered by a tumble of bougainvillea vines dense with magenta blossoms. She explained that she was a novice nun from Germany and also told us about how she’d found her vocation. Her trilling voice was so sweet and sincere that we were both hugely moved by her story. “I must return to my chores,” she told us. “But please stay here and enjoy the shade and the silence as long as you like. The woman in the boutique will let you out when you’re ready.” The silent hour we spent watching the hummingbirds and catching whiffs of baking bread, the lemon trees in blossom, the herbs and, occasionally, even the sea was so profoundly renewing we both got teary eyed when the monastery door closed behind us. —Alec Lobrano, author of My Place at the Table: A Recipe for a Delicious Life in Paris

Climbing to the top of Dune du Pilat solo to write, sketch, and observe the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean. A truly magnificent scene to behold and one of my favorite places in the world. Then being tapped on the shoulder by two strangers, Thomas and Berni, who introduced themselves and I would discover were kindred spirits and fellow artists. The three of us together, a reminder of all those who go forth in the world with a sense of wanderlust. —Claire Scoville, creative consultant at Jenni Kayne Home

Guava juice on the Eastern Oriental Express - I had never had guava juice before; and the first sip was a wonder! So decadent and delicious, with Malaysia roaring by. I felt incredibly lucky to be on board the train to begin with, a dream come true, but this moment cemented the whole experience, tying into the local produce, the server reacting to my delight with delight, and the feeling of discovery, the best part of travel. —Charlotte Forsyth Wastell, photographer and co-founder of food styling consultancy Hands London

What did I find while traveling, what stayed with me? It was all about the water. The sea surrounding the Pontine islands, a million shades of blue and green. A pool under olive, fig, and pear trees at the top of a Ligurian mountain. Choppy waves off Cap Ferret. A glassy pond in South Africa. Mexico’s Bay of Banderas, with its schools of dolphins and elusive whales. Water holds, intrigues, and cleanses you. This is why I travel. —Julia Leach, brand strategist and cofounder of Sublime Studio

I was in Egypt on assignment this fall, and I spent one day pinballing around Cairo checking out a raft of artisans and shops some friends had recommended. One stood out more than any other: ByHand African Artisans, which sells objects—textiles and alabaster, mostly, but also woven baskets and the like—made by refugees. It’s a pro-social undertaking that happens to be incredibly chic. I lugged two, hefty alabaster sconces home on the plane by hand and hiked them up to upstate New York to install, because I couldn’t resist the backstory, or their visual appeal, bulbs glowing softly through textured stone. —Mark Ellwood, editor-at-large for Robb Report

Riding in a helicopter: always a thrill. Riding in a helicopter that landed in a river bed to pick you up after a hike through the deep woods on Vancouver Island: a gorgeous thrill. Riding in that helicopter with two affectionate, giant poodles sitting on your lap, nuzzling you as you soar over the pine trees back to Clayoquot Wilderness Lodge, where they live under the care of the general manager and you are spending several days: well, that’s just unforgettable. —Pavia Rosati, cofounder of Fathom and the Substack Way to Go

My dad and his siblings grew up in Warsaw in the ’70s and hadn’t been back until we returned as a family for Thanksgiving this year. Before our trip, my aunt sent a letter to the current owners of their childhood home, addressed to a street that technically no longer exists. Miraculously, the local postman had been working in the neighborhood for decades and knew which house it was meant for. The owners somehow received the letter (despite admitting they never check their mailbox), wrote back, and invited us over for a delicious lunch while we were in town. They easily could have ignored it, but instead they were incredibly gracious—matching our enthusiasm and opening their stunning home (if anyone from AD is reading this… call me) to a group of ten Americans they’d never met. We ended up spending the entire day and evening together, walking through the house, reliving family stories, and talking about how much Poland has changed over the decades. Now they WhatsApp us videos of themselves singing Polish Christmas carols around the piano—songs we’ve listened to for years without ever knowing the words. It was one of those really special travel moments where everything out of our control had to align, and somehow did better than we could have possibly imagined. It truly felt like a bit of divine intervention (or maybe my grandparents) that brought us together with people who now say we’re family. —Carly Shea, Yolo lifestyle editor

As I sailed through the pristine waters of the Tuamotu Archipelago, one of the most remote corners of French Polynesia, I dove into the sacred depths of the UNESCO-protected South Pass. Under the glow of the full moon, tidal currents surged with life, drawing forth endless schools of vibrant fish. Hundreds of sharks glided effortlessly like shadows beneath the crystal-clear surface. Hidden within the embrace of an underwater cave, I watched in awe as nature’s raw power unfolded before me, weaving an unforgettable tapestry of beauty and serving as a profound reminder of our responsibility to protect these precious ecosystems. —Nanda Haensel, travel writer

I was driving through Southeastern Crete last summer with my friend Maria after a long but deeply satisfying day visiting archeological sites, legendary hippie caves, a traditional baker and a ceramicist. The sun was sinking quickly, and we still had an hour to go before reaching our hotel in Ierapetra, so we debated if we had time to detour into the mountains for one final stop. But something about meeting a “Minoan beekeeper and herbalist” made me want to push on. As we climbed higher, steep rock faces closed in around us, the air echoing with sheep bells. We parked next to an olive grove and got out of the car; Maria Callas’s voice drifted across the hillside. Mr. Stephanos—a tall, elegant man in his late 70s or so, wearing a crisp Oxford shirt—greeted us and led us to a shaded bower of citrus trees and rosemary pots. Over cups of lemon verbena tea, he spoke about his decades spent farming medicinal herbs on this mountain peak: sage and rosemary for concentration, peppermint for digestion, monk’s pepper (used by monks to temper desire) for cramps, and so on. He walked us over to a stone wall where he makes honey in the same way the Minoans have for nearly 4,000 years: in ceramic pots laid on their sides, frenzied bees dancing around the mouths of the vessels. As the sun fell behind the hills, I felt like I’d found some kind of paradise on earth, or maybe a scene out of Greek mythology, shaped by one man’s patience, knowledge and care. —Alex Postman, Yolo deputy editor